


Nymph of the Nine Circles - Prologue: Enter Eris Apollo

by Volitionn_Arts



Series: Nymph of the Nine Circles [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Prologue, origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volitionn_Arts/pseuds/Volitionn_Arts
Series: Nymph of the Nine Circles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916956
Kudos: 4





	Nymph of the Nine Circles - Prologue: Enter Eris Apollo

Hello?

Anyone here?

Guess it’s just me...

No light…

No air…

There’s nothing here...

There is only a name... Eris Apollo…

I guess that’s my name.

In the distance, something slowly blossoms into view. It's blurred, distant, and indistinct, and yet somehow it feels familiar; eerily familiar.

It flickers softly, refusing to linger any longer than a few seconds at a time. As if to tease me, it draws closer, almost reaching me; only to flicker, disappear, then reappear and repeat the same vicious cycle. 

The haze before me draws closer at an agonizing pace. Then, just as slowly, it begins to recede, retreating until it finally vanishes. I find myself in a stillness poisoned by this intrusive, despicably teasing something; this familiar cloud of warm yellow and gold which I get the feeling has vanished for good. 

Just as I begin to forget about that troublesome apparition, sharp pain shoots through me, akin to a blazing hot iron driven through both my lungs. I strain myself, making desperate attempts to gasp for air, but I can barely coax my lungs into expanding, my pain surging in intensity.

As my chest constricts further, another blurry apparition comes into view. In spite of its similar shape, it’s tangibly and shockingly different, lacking any semblance of familiarity the previous cloud possessed. This thick, blood red haze now flickers before me, choosing not to taunt me. In fact, this crimson mass seems intent on reaching me, moving with alarming suddenness to completely envelope me. My eyelids fully retreat, and the scarlet bloom reveals itself to be my field of vision. 

This whole time, I had simply been trying to open my eyes. 

My surroundings reek of the color red. Red sky, red buildings, red clouds... Red... Pentagram in the sky… The sight of such a huge symbol spinning a few miles above me is almost enough to distract me from the painful tension digging deeper into my torso. The agony, however, demands my attention after just a few short seconds of reprieve. My hand snaps to my chest, pressing between my pectorals as I clench my teeth, still trying to gasp for breath. It's no use. The intense discomfort burrows deeper still. 

Somehow, I get to my feet, my palm nudging up against my sternum as my futile attempts at respiration continue. I walk forward, stepping onto the pavement of Pentagram City, marked by an imposing archway of steel and brick.

In an attempt to cope with the oppressive pain of being unable to breathe, I occupy myself with taking in my surroundings. The city resembles Los Angeles, with scattered tall buildings standing commandingly over more modest shops and smaller office spaces. Looking over the streets before me, I notice another similarity this city has to Los Angeles. The streets are covered in filth, and the gutters run thick with black water, which flows around what look like bits of trash. No. That looks like a skull. I glance around more intently, and am struck with a sickening feeling that forces my eyes wide open. My already choked breathing screeches to a halt, sending yet another jolt of pain through my very core.

What looked like mere waste products take on a much more sickening appearance. Gore and viscera can be seen strewn sporadically about the main boulevard in front of me. Thick, deep red blood runs ankle deep in the gutters on both sides of the crimson-stained asphalt, viscous and lumpy with clots and loose bits of various soft tissue. Large masses of coagulation slide into storm drains, creating repulsive splats and thuds that echo audibly in the silence of my unfamiliar surroundings.

The sight was putrid enough, but the scent and sounds of the scene are what force my already labored chest to constrict even more violently, coming dangerously close to making me heave in spite of my stomach holding nothing. I freeze in place, my eyes tracing up the boulevard to fall on the shape of a large tower about five blocks ahead of me, the top of which houses a large clock face, below which is a sign with three dials reading 3-6-4. I couldn't quite make out the text above those three numbers, but I connect the dots almost instantly. Whatever those numbers count down to; whatever resulted in the gruesome carnage around me, I don't want to know about, let alone be a part of...

I force myself to swallow the bile that's crept into the back of my throat while fleeing the pressure of my stomach, and I demand that my feet keep moving forward. I'm desperate to figure out how to breathe again, or at least to find somewhere I could rest securely until I could satisfy my need for oxygen. I reach a lamp-post, stopping to lean against it with the intent of waiting out at least some of the pain. The mere act of walking is hopelessly laborious, every step urging my lungs to make another attempt at filling themselves with air. Of course, this only intensifies the strain.

I place one hand on my temple, wracking my brain for any sounds, scents, or images from my past; anything that could explain, or provide a semblance of clarity about my current situation. Nothing helpful shows itself, and as I rummage desperately through the drawers of my memories, it becomes apparent there is no clutter to sort through. I’m faced with empty dresser drawers. Nothing to hide, nothing to offer, no story to tell.Unwelcome questions begin echoing inside my brain, as if thrashing themselves violently against my cranial wall. My skull resonates with frantic cries of “Why is there nothing?” “Where am I?” “Why?” “Please someone help!” Then, they stop, leaving a peculiarly hesitant and resigned whisper in the cacophony's place. "What does my voice sound like?" I gather what I can of a breath, and let out a soft and weak, "Hello? Who am I?" into the warm air around me. I almost flinch at the thunderously timid sound, as if I had never heard a voice before; as if I had never heard _my_ voice before. My hand reflexively moves up my chest to rest on my collarbones, the mere vibrations of my vocal box jarring to my freshly developing senses. I speak to myself again, not with curiosity, but with resignation.

"I-I'm sorry, Eris... But I don't know where or who you are... and I don't think anyone else around here will, either..."


End file.
